violette1st_fanonfandomcom-20200214-history
Sorry, Emma.
I know how a lot of you may judge me. But I've done everything that I could, and I'm telling this story just to help people who might be going through the same thing as I did. It all started from the baby. My daughter, Emma, gave birth to a beautiful boy 3 months ago. She'd named him Mick. I liked the name because it sounded familiar and sweet. Mick had my daughter's eyes, a lovely brown with a hint of gold. I was in love with him the second I saw him. Being a grandmother made me feel a lot of things that I couldn't explain. But I can assure you I was the happiest woman the day I held my grandson and looked into his eyes. In those eyes, I saw the endless possibilities for him and the loving family my daughter had created. Emma saw me tearing up and smiled. She still had that playful smile she had as a kid. I felt my heart swelling up with endless love and pride. I'd worried all my life that I wouldn't be able to give enough to my daughter as a single parent. There were days when I felt helpless, when I couldn't provide Emma with the things other kids had. But Emma had always been my light whenever I was feeling inadequate. Just seeing her smile solved everything. She made me work harder to be a better mom, and a better human being. Now, she had become a mother herself. I had no doubt that she'd be a wonderful mother. Then she became sick. It started with a little fever. She'd thought it was just a cold so she didn't go to the doctor, not until when she couldn't go on another hour without vomiting. Her symptoms grew worse every minute and she eventually had to get admitted to the hospital. I was worried but didn't think too much about it because I knew her husband was with her, helping her through all this. Also, I'd seen what flu could do to people so she probably had some kind of flu, which wasn't that bad. I thought she was eventually going to get better. Then I got a call from her the next day. She was trying to stay calm but I could sense that something had happened and that she was rattled. "Mom, I'm sorry but I think we'll going to be here for a while. We have a babysitter today but we don't have one for tomorrow. Could you take care of Mick for us?" I asked her if she was okay. "No, no... I'm not doing great. My legs started to lock up this morning and now I can't walk." She muttered under her breath. She also said that they were running tests but the doctors still didn't know what this was. I was worried to my death but tried to fake a calm voice. I reassured her that everything would be okay and that I'd take care of Mick as long as she needed me to. She hung up after a while because she needed to draw some more blood. What was happening? How could something as mild as a fever escalate so quickly? I paced around the house asking questions that I couldn't find the answers to. I prayed for Emma before going to sleep, wishing that this would be something easily treatable. The next day, I woke up earlier and drove to their house, arriving just in time for the babysitter to leave. Mick was still asleep in the cradle. Seeing Mick was always delightful. He was a very sweet baby, mostly quiet except for when he was hungry. A few hours passed uneventfully. I fed Mick and changed his diapers. He was sound asleep once again, as babies usually do. Then my phone wrang. It was Emma. I picked up, expecting her to ask how Mick was doing. But it wasn't Emma on the phone. It was her husband James. He was crying. I felt dread washing over my body, as I waited for him to speak. "Emma isn't waking up. Her body is going rigid and the doctors are saying she's slipped in a coma. I think you should come" He babbled. My brain didn't understand what he was saying. It felt like I was out of my body, as I moved to get Mick in the car with me. I don't even remember how I drove, but I somehow got to the hospital. I blankly looked at the numbers going up in the elevator, until I reached the fifth floor, where Emma was at. I thought everything felt numb but realization hit me as I saw Emma. James rushed and took Mick. I ran to Emma. Even from far away, she looked like death. She literally looked like someone who had been dug up from the grave. Her skin was a deep shade of brown and grey, as veins bulged out from her legs all the way up to her face. I couldn't help but let out some kind of noise that sounded like something inbetween a moan and a stifled scream. James looked at me as he covered Mick's eyes. "We ran all the tests and she has nothing contagious. But doctors still don't know what this is. Every test says that she's perfectly fine." he said. He then suggested that he could hire a babysitter for me to go home or stay in the hospital for Emma. I refused and chose to stay with Mick because I knew Emma would've wanted that. I got to meet her doctor before I left with Mick. She said that she had no idea what this was. She explained what they were trying to do with Emma, and promised that they'd try their best. I wasn't even a bit comforted. I still kept thinking about how close to death Emma looked, even after we'd got back home. Mick seemed to be oblivious of the whole ordeal. He looked at me with his innocent eyes as he smiled. I tried to smile back but it was as if my face was losing touch with my mind. I felt my mouth sealing shut and forming a tight grimace. I looked away, trying not to show this to Mick. Mick fell asleep shortly after I'd fed him. But I just couldn't sleep. The haunting image of my daughter's body lying limp kept stalking me. Then my phone rang. I didn't want to pick up. I knew that if this was another call from Emma or the hospital, it wasn't a good news. I was relieved when the call was from an unknown number. "Hello?" I answered the call with a weary tone in my voice. "Hello. I know that Emma's sick. Meet me at the diner near the 7th avenue at 12:30. Be on time." Then the line went dead. I know that this wasn't the smartest choice, but I decided to meet him, whoever he was. I wouldn't even have considered doing what I was told from a random stranger, if it hadn't been for Emma. But I knew that I didn't have a choice. I knew that I'd do anything if it was for her, and obeying a stranger's order wasn't an exception. It was 12:15. I had to hurry. It was 12:28 when I got to the diner. I sat at the table near the window. The man approached me at exactly 12:30. He sat down across me. He looked at me as he sighed, pulling out a file from his briefcase. He then dumped the file onto the table, several sheets of paper and some photographs flying out. "This was your son, Mick." He swiftly gathered all the photographs and handed it to me. What was he talking about? I've never had a son. "I think you're mistaking me for my daughter. Mick is my grandson." " Just look at the pictures." And I did. There was a young boy who looked a lot like Emma in every photo. I was also in one of the photos, holding his hand, with a wide smile across my face. I couldn't understand, but it felt like something that was taken away from me was coming back, as I looked at the boy's face. Vague memories sprung up here and there, like the yellow slide that we used to go to. 'We'? What did 'we' mean? I kept asking myself what this was but all I had were those vague pieces of memories, and I still couldn't remember who this boy was. "You'll get there. Maybe not now but you'll remember everything after a few weeks. But we don't have time for that. This has to be done tomorrow. Or your daughter dies." He interrupted me, as he snatched the photos out of my hand. "You have to burn your grandson and feed your daughter a spoonful of the remains. Preferrably dialuted with water." He stated in a monotone voice, as if he was reading this out of some kind of manual. Then he handed me a script of paper with foreign words. "Burn this with him." Then he left. I tried to follow him but as soon as we got out of the diner, he vanished. I had so many questions unanswered. I kept having this short vision of certain memories that had been tucked away for a very long time. 'Did I really have a son?' I asked myself. The answer should've been no, but something felt wrong, denying that I had a son. 'Was I going to do what he said?' I felt something in me just shutting itself down, as something new peaked out of the dark corner of my mind. 'A grandson is nothing without your own daughter.' A voice whispered in my head with viciousness as it spat truth that sounded like insults. I knew all along that I had to do what had to be done, if I could keep Emma safe. And to be absolutely truthful, I knew that a part of me was happy when I heard the 'solution' to this problem. So I was. I was going to burn my grandchild with my own hands. I do not know why, but it was like something else had taken over me after I made that decision. I was skipping with joy, smiling ear to ear, genuinely happy to have found a way to see my daughter alive and healthy again. However, this feeling didn't last long, as I arrived back at the house. I had to kill Mick with my own hands. And this was the only way. Mick was still sleeping in his cradle. Still oblivious, still innocent, and still just a baby. I wanted to kill myself if that counted for anything, and I would've gladly took Mick's place if I could've. But this was the only way. I lit up the fireplace. Mick was small enough to fit in the little fireplace they had in their house. I lifted his small body up into my arms as I hugged him close to my heart. His back rose up and down, his little heart thumping continuosly. I gently pressed his face with a thick cloth until it all stopped. Then I layed him down into the inviting arms inside the fireplace, with the script that the man had given me. Flame danced around his body as it ate away his soft flesh, turning them intl charred pieces of bone and dust. I bottled him up after everything was done. The house felt suddenly empty, eerily quiet and somehow colder, with a cradle standing by itself without it's owner. And I fed my daughter the next day, exactly how the man had told me to. A spoonful, dialuted with water. My daughter is well now. And nobody but myself remembers Mick, her son. Guilt is eating my soul and I sometimes hear babies crying in the distance or next to my ear. But I don't regret anything. Category:Fanfic Category:Creepypasta